Erotica: Murky Water

 She stared at the murky water as it swirled around her feet.  Her shower had been draining slower and slower.  She frowned, it was getting pretty bad.  She had looked down the drain, trying to see if there was anything blocking the water, hair or something, but whatever it was it was beyond her reach.  She would have to call Mike.

She had found him just like you would find any plumber, typing in plumbing on the internet and then checking his references, even joining Angie’s list to see if people had said anything about him, good or bad.  He came with good references and was bonded and listed on the better business bureau.  He had been in business for almost ten years locally.

When he showed up, he looked exactly like she had expected him to.  Middle aged, rugged, dressed like he was here to work, in broken in jeans, work shirt with his business logo over the pocket.  He wasn’t particularly handsome or tall.  His hair was thinning and showing grey around his ears.  His hands were large and scarred and had the kind of rough, grainy skin that never looked completely clean.  At a casual glance, the only thing remarkable about him was perhaps the width of his shoulders and the way the muscles of his arms strained at the fabric of his shirt.  He had installed her new shower quickly and professionally.  It was only a few days later, when he called to see if everything was still working right, that he had asked her if she would like to get a cup of coffee sometime.

They had dated for a while, maybe six months.  But he was a bit of player and made it clear he was not all that interested in settling down with just one woman and she had not been able to come to terms with that.  They had parted on good terms, a fact she was grateful for.  After all, it was harder to find a good plumber these days than a boyfriend. 

She winced a little as she thought that last bit.  It might be not that hard to find a boyfriend, but one as good in bed as Mike was another matter.  In a lot of ways, sex with Mike had spoiled her for the attentive if insipid and predictable couplings of the guys she had dated since.  He had been anything but insipid or predictable.  He had been very up front about his likes and dislikes… she shook her head… there wasn’t anything that man had not liked.  He had told her with a matter of fact honesty that had both shocked and aroused her that he liked it rough and he liked it often.  Then he had proceeded to demonstrate exactly what he was talking about.  He had left her with a very definite taste for violent, nasty, humiliating sex.  The rougher and more demeaning the better she had liked it.

It was unfortunate that he had also liked it with a lot of different women.  If it hadn’t been for that, they might have ended up together for the long run.

Mike answered his phone promptly, his voice professional and yet warm.  He said he could come by that afternoon if she was going to be home.  She agreed and promptly called work and let them know she would be taking the afternoon off.

She took a long shower right before he was scheduled to arrive, taking the time to shave and do a deep condition on her thick red curls.  When she was done the grey water was almost up to the overflow drain and did not seem to be draining at all.  She put on a light flowered house dress that she had picked up at a local discount store, an outfit that managed to look alluring and yet plausible for hanging out at home, and one she would not mind if it got torn.  Mike had a very bad track record with buttons.  The only thing that might have signaled an ulterior intent may have been the height of the heels on her sandals or if you had managed to peek, the fact that she wore nothing else, neither underwear nor brassier.  She styled her hair and put on makeup but she did not think that Mike really ever noticed those things.  He was pretty basic, less interested in the wrapper than what was contained within.

He was exactly on time.  He knocked and waited on the porch until she opened the door.  Back when they were dating he would have just walked in like he had owned the place.  When she opened the door he grinned and his voice was just a little taunting.  “Got a bit of a drainage problem?”

“Yeah, it’s my bathtub.”

“Well, let me take a look at it.”

The water had gone down an inch or so, a ring of soap scum and tiny bits of hair from her shaving circled the sides of the tub.  He sent her an irritated look, but his voice was calm.  “Yep, definitely backed up there.”  Then he looked at her, his eyes measuring, looking her up and down.  “And you, how have you been doing?”

She shifted and blinked, suddenly a little evasive.  It was always at this moment that she got this little rush of fear, her mouth going dry and her heart thundering. 

“I’ve been fine.”  She stepped back a step. 

It was like he could smell her fear.  His grin turned just a bit feral.  “You sure?  It’s been a while since you called me.  Is there anything else you might be needing?  He paused and reached out, toying with the top button on her dress.  “You know.  All you have to do is ask.”

It was the same conversation they had had every time he came over.  She knew she had to ask.  In fact before they were done, she would have to beg.  There would not be any question of consent.  She cleared her throat nervously and tried to be a little coy, “Well, now that you mention it.  The shower isn’t the only thing that seems a little backed up.  I have another… um… bit of plumbing that could use some… um… work?”  Her voice trembled and her attempt at humor fell flat.

He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel his breath in her face, backing her into a corner.  He wasn’t a lot taller than her and in heels their eyes were level.  “Work?  What kind of work?”

She felt a shiver of nervousness.  Her voice shook a little.  “You know what I mean.”

His hand gripped the front of her dress and he pushed her hard against the wall.  “Then say it.  Tell me what you want.”

His touch seemed to break down her internal barriers and her voice was a low moan of hunger, “I want you to fuck me.  I want you take that big, hard cock and shove it into me over and over.  I want you to use me like a dirty fucking whore.”

He laughed and as he yanked down, tearing the buttons off the dress down to her waist, he stared at her naked breasts and taunted, “Yes, dirty fucking whore.  I like that.  I like that because that is exactly what you are.”  His voice was low, deliberate, enunciating each word with relish, “A… dirty… fucking… whore.”  His other hand was unbuttoning his jeans and he fished out his already swelling cock and he shook it at her.  Her eyes locked on the vision of it.  It was already bigger than any other cock she had had and she knew it would soon be bigger, a lot bigger.  God she loved the way that cock felt inside her cunt.  “So you want me to fuck you with this?”

She tried to reach for it, tried to sink to her knees to get closer but he shoved her roughly back against the wall.  “Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.”

“I want you to fuck me with it!”

He let go of her.  “Take off the dress and get on your knees.”

There wasn’t a whole lot left holding the dress up.  It fell around her ankles easily and she dropped to her knees and crawled toward him, already opening her mouth to take him in.  But his hand in her hair stopped her barely an inch away from the massive purple head.  “Now, you dirty little whore, tell me how you want me to fuck you?”

She pulled against his grip, savoring the sting and ache of the pull on her hair.  Her voice was an agonized, gasping babble.  “I want it fast.  I want it hard.  I want it rough.  I want all of it over and over and over.  I want it like you like it.”

“Yes, you dirty little whore, of all the women I fuck, you like it the same way I do the most of all.”  She flinched a little.  He knew she did not like it when he talked about the other ones.  She also knew he talked about it for exactly that reason.  He would tell her that even if she wasn’t the prettiest or the youngest or the thinnest or had the biggest tits, that the one thing that kept him coming back was her unholy addiction to being fucked with all the violence and humiliation he wanted to dispense.

He tipped her head back and stared down at her.  “Keep that dirty whore mouth shut until I tell you different.  Do you understand?” 

She would have nodded if he did not have such a tight grip in his hair.  He pulled her close to his crotch, rubbing his cock on her face.  His voice was loud in her ears, “Can you smell it, whore?  Can you smell her?  That was why I could not come over right away.  When you called me I was already balls deep in another woman.  I was getting busy with my last customer… you ain’t the only middle aged horny bitch with plumbing problems.”

She tensed and tried to pull away, shaking her head and suddenly repulsed, but he shoved her back.  His voice harsh, “I said smell it.  Get your fucking nose deep in there, inhale it.”  And it was there, definite and strong, the smell of sex.  She shuddered and tried to fight him, but he did not relent.  He held a small dictating device down within the range of her vision.  He pushed a button and she could her voice, pathetically needy, begging to be fucked. 

“Too late to change your mind, bitch.  I got it all on tape.  You asked for it, now you are going to get it.  Now open up.”  His fingers were on her mouth, prizing her lips apart and forcing himself in.  “Open up… all the way up.”  And he pulled her up close, forcing himself deep, probing that back of her throat and deliberately forcing her to gag.      

 He talked to her the whole time as he fucked her face.  “When I fuck you today, I want you to think about that.  Think about how this cock was buried in another woman only a couple hours ago.  Think about how I am comparing how you fuck to how she fucked.  Think about the look on her face when I took that call without even missing a beat, talking to you while I was humping her cunt hard and fast.  And after I hung up, I told her I was going to come here and fuck you.  I told her that I was going to see if your cunt felt better than hers… that maybe she should work it a little harder.  You know something?  She stepped right up; she tightened up on my tool like a vice and began to thrash around like she was having a fucking epileptic seizure.”

It went on and on.  Her jaw ached and her stomach began to lurch.  Over and over when she was given a second to catch her breath, she had to swallow down mouthfuls of her own vomit.  She knew that it would not faze him, that he would not even pause if she did.  And to her humiliation, she could feel her body heat, each violent spasm of gags made her cunt tighten and she could feel the wetness ooze out of her.  It seemed the angrier he made her, the more she regretted her decision, the more degraded he made her feel the more aroused she became.  It was disgusting and infuriating and she had never been more turned on.

Over and over she felt him harden and felt the telltale tension in his body of insipient orgasm but each time he would pull her away and breathe for a minute.  His voice was low, “No hurry, bitch.  I charge by the hour.  And I got plenty left for you.  I popped me one of them little blue pills before I headed over.  Wouldn’t want you to feel like you weren’t getting your money’s worth.”

And she knew he would.  Every minute he was here would be on his bill.  This knowledge only emphasized her debasement. 

The third time he pushed her off, he sat down on the toilet and pointed at his lace up work boots.  “Take them off.”

Thankful for a few moments to catch her breath and settle her stomach, she bent to the task.  It did not take long and then he stood and kicked off his pants and pulled his shirt off.  She gazed up at him.  From this angle he looked massive.  He might not have been tall but he was broad and thickly muscled.  His abdomen was flat and rippled with muscle.  When he was not working he spent most of his time working out a local body building gym.  She knew that he would not hesitate to use his strength against her, to hold her down, bend her anyway he wished.  There was no option of refusal.  This knowledge, that there was no escape, no way out, that if she did not cooperate, he would just force her was what she craved more than anything else.

Even though she knew he could do anything, his next move took her by surprise.  Again it was a demonstration of his strength.  In a heartbeat the fingers of only one hand wrapped around her throat and lifted her clear up off her feet.  She hung there, and for just an instant looked down at him, her eyes met his.  She could not breathe, but somehow that seemed okay, her whole body felt limp, even boneless.  He tipped his head and a tiny smirk made the corner of his mouth twitch and his eyes slid past her to the tub.

There was a surreal sense of weightlessness and for a microsecond she wondered if she was getting any blood flow to her brain.  She did not even notice that her shoes had slipped off her feet until he put her down and spun her around to face away.  She stumbled and went to her knees and before she realized his intent he had her bent forward over the cold porcelain edge of the bathtub, her face only inches from the scummy water.  She could hear him doing something, and she glanced back over her shoulder and saw him tearing open a condom wrapper with his teeth.  His eyes were a strange yet thrilling mix of pent up rage and sheer lustful enjoyment.

“What you staring at, whore?”  His free hand shot forward and she flinched, fearful that he was going to strike her, but instead he put his hand on her head and shoved it down, forcing her whole face down into the cool, grey water, down until it was pressed hard against the bottom of the tub.  She struggled to lift up her head, but he was too strong.  She could her him laughing, the mocking sound strangely loud as it passed through the water filling her ears.

He gripped her hair and lifted her head up, leaning over her, pinning her down, trapping her, his voice low and nasty in her ears as she gasped and coughed.  “Dirty water for a dirty whore.”

She could feel him position himself, the blunt end of his cock nudging at the opening of her cunt.  His hand yanked back violently on her hair as he lunged forward, his thrust literally a punch in her gut.  She could not help but let out a deep oof as the air was forced from her lungs.  She felt her cunt hole stretch around his cock, felt him bottom out against her cervix hard.  It sent a deep, agonizing cramp through her womb.  Her sudden exhalation changed to a deep groaning yelp that was cut off as he pushed her head down into the water again. 

One hand held her head down and the other gripped her hip.  He began to pound her, deep, relentless thrusts that made her insides churn.  She did her best to keep her mouth and eyes shut, praying that he would not let her drown; telling herself that he would not want the trouble of having to dispose of her body.  And if she did die, who would pay his bill?  But the fear was there, the fear and disgust as the sensation of the cold, slimy water, and something about it, the helplessness, the vulnerability, the sudden awareness that he could kill her and she could not do anything about it made cunt seize up around his cock and she was coming, coming like it was perhaps the last orgasm of her life.  Her arms flailed in the water, splashing, she screamed under the water and choked. 

He jerked her head up and growled in short sharp grunts as he lunged against her.  “Careful, whore, not done with you yet.” 

But she hardly heard him over her own words, primal, harsh words that seemed to be forced from her lips by each invasion.  It did not even sound like her voice, low and hoarse, she was growling out the words, “Fuck it!  Fuck it!  Fuck my cunt!  Harder!  More!  God damn it, is that all you have?”  She braced herself against the far side of the tub and lunged back at him.       

“You want more?  You dirty, insatiable, greedy whore, I will give you more.  Take a deep breath, you are going under again.”  And true to his word as soon as she inhaled he pushed her head down again. 

Spurred on by her words, he began to go at her with a wild ferocity.  She could hear him grunting and snarling, “More?  More?  You want more?”  He shifted turning slightly and put one foot into the tub, stepping on her hair and using his both hands to grip her thighs and spread them wider.  He was over her now, ramming at her, swiveling his hips, stabbing at her from different angles.  It felt like he was trying to crawl inside her.  The thrusts were getting faster, harder and even deeper.  It felt like her insides were being pummeled, like he was going at her with a bat. 

If she strained hard, she could just barely lift her face enough to steal a gasp of air but each time he slammed into her, her face was forced down again.  She could her him cursing, calling her names, telling her what a sad fuck she was, and hearing those words, hearing the rage and disgust, she was coming again, her scream bubbling up in the filthy water.

As usual he seemed tireless.  Fucking Mike was like a marathon, he always seemed to take a long time to finish and she knew that if he had been with another woman earlier, that this was not the first time of the day, it would take even longer.  She knew she was in for a long ride, but this was what she wanted… it had been a long time since she had been fucked like this and she wanted it to last.  She knew as long as he was in the saddle she would be coming, coming hard, over and over.

To her oxygen starved brain, time seemed to stand still… the act endless.  It was as if all existence had been reduced to this moment.  She had always been here.  He had always been here.  Sensory input was reduced to a strange series of still images… a flickering, crazy quilt of moments, words and sensations…   

As usual, he did not come inside her cunt.  He pulled out and yanked her hair, pulling her up and jerking off inches from her face.  She squeezed her eyes shut.  He grunted as he came.  It felt hot as it hit her skin.  She could feel it as it slipped down her wet skin and dripped onto her chest.  She hung there, suspended in his grip, swaying, gasping.  When she licked her lips she could taste him.

He shoved her backwards toward the water, upending her until she was lying in the slimy grey water.  He stood over her, his hand still on his big, meaty cock… working it… a nasty smirk on his face.  His voice did not hold quite the same amount of venom but the words still stung… “Proper place for a dirty whore.”

She stood in the bathroom, wrapped in her thick bathrobe, rubbing a towel at her hair, watching him as he efficiently worked the snake down the drain. 

“You are a fucking bastard, you know.”

He did not look up from the task.  “That is why you call me.”

He pulled a big, nasty clump of hair out of the drain.  He frowned and looked at it.  His thick fingers were surprisingly deft as he plucked out a sparkling hair barrette and handed it to her.  “This was the problem.”

She turned to barrette over in her hand and shrugged, she watched as the water swirled down the drain and he rinsed out the tub.

His expression did not change as she looked over the bill and wrote the check.

He was professionalism incarnate.  “Call me if you need me.”  They both knew what that meant.

She carefully put the barrette away for the next time.